


The Dump

by overlordy



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dom!Sans, Established Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Gratuitous Mindfuckery, Gratuitous Punnery, M/M, Mettaton and Sans are also ridiculously domestic, Mettaton makes puns, Pre-Relationship, Prompts Galore, Sans Needs A Hug, Sans's pranks get him in trouble, Science Pick-Up Lines, Tragedy, another interpretation of echo flower dialogue, how does one write Mettaton, if anyone figures it out lemme know, like super angst, not all, some - Freeform, some chapters will be smut, sub!Gaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5477180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overlordy/pseuds/overlordy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a place for me to put prompt fills and little things I write on my own time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cute Nerds (Sanster)

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous; "So like a prompt for sanster ummm... What about Sans and Gaster being cute nerds together? Could go in any direction I guess"

Sans spun in his chair and balanced a pencil on the tip of his finger. It was a true feat of physics, that is until the pencil tipped over and clattered noisily against the ground. Sans groaned.

“Hush,” Gaster admonished from a few feet away, glancing up from his blueprints to give Sans a stern look. “If you’re done for the day, why don’t you go check readings on the Core instead of sitting there and whining.”

Someone’s grumpy. Sans watched as Gaster scowled and kneaded his skull with the heel of his hand, glaring down at his blueprints like they personally offended him. At this rate, they probably did. The old guy was getting too wrapped up in his work, like usual. He probably needed some TLC.

“hey, g,” Sans said, his grin stretching. Gaster ignored him. “do you like science?”

Sans watched Gaster’s shoulders rise and fall, ever so slowly, in preparation for what’s to come. “Sans, please-”

“because ive got my ion you.”

Gaster groaned and covered his face with his hands, but Sans didn’t miss the way the corners of his mouth twitched up in a smile. Hook, line, and sinker.

“are you made of fluoride, iodine, and neon? because you are F-I-Ne.”

“I think I’ve heard that one approximately thirty-seven times, but who’s counting?” Gaster huffs, deft fingers mapping out a complicated equation in a last-ditch effort to deter Sans.

“didn’t you know that chemists do it periodically on the table?”

Gaster’s hand slipped and he spluttered, a gray tint rising to his pale face as he frantically erased his mistake. “S-Sans! This is not appropriate behavior for the work area-”

“i will fondle your vesicles while you caress my golgi body.”

“You aren’t even a biologist!”

“you are the photon to my photosystem-”

“Oh heavens.”

“-you excite my electron until i reach my reaction center.”

Gaster threw down his pencil in frustration and rounded on Sans. The smaller skeleton grinned in response, the picture of perfect innocence. “something wrong, buddy?”

Gaster strode forward and grasped the back of Sans’s chair. Sans’s grin widened as he bent down until their eyes met.

“How about me and you go back to my place and form a covalent bond?”

Sans’s eyes widened in glee. “well, according to the second law of thermodynamics, you’re supposed to share your hotness with me.”

“That lab coat would look even better accelerating towards my bedroom floor at 9.8 m/s2.”

“ohh, i love it when you talk mathematics with me.” Sans fanned at his face and Gaster laughed, leaning forward and pressing a kiss against Sans’s cheek.

“Your lab bench, or mine?” Gaster murmured. It sent a thrill through the smaller skeleton, who laced their fingers together with finality.

“either.”


	2. What A Ball (Saster)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous; "Prompt: pre-relationship sanster where both of them are trying to figure what the heck their feelings are (I assume sans copes with humor)"

Sans stared at the sheet of paper in his hand, lined with neat penmanship and addressed to him personally. By His Majesty himself, no less.  _In celebration of the anniversary of the Core’s completion, King Asgore cordially invites you to attend a grand ball. Please feel free to bring with you a guest…_  and then some stuff about dress code that Sans more than likely is going to ‘accidentally’ forget about.

“Sans! Are you going to attend?” Papyrus asked, peeking over his shoulder and smelling strongly like spaghetti.

“of course. i can’t just not go, i helped build the thing.”

“But who are you going to bring?” Sans blinked, then turned towards his brother.

“you?” he phrased it like a question, like bringing someone else just barely crossed his mind.

“I’m your brother, Sans! You can’t bring your brother as your plus one!”

“well who else am i gonna bring?”

Papyrus grinned at him, his brow lifting. Sans knew that look. That look could only mean- but no. He wouldn’t…

“What about Dr. Gaster?”

Sans sputtered and choked on nothing. “wh-what about him?” he avoided his brother’s knowing gaze, trying hard to ignore the beads of sweat forming along his brow. “uh. i think he’s gonna be there anyway since he, yknow,  _built_  the core…”

“You should ask him anyway!”

“it’s not like he’s gonna be  _bonely_  or anything.”

“Your puns cannot hide your true feelings, oh brother of mine! Everyone knows you two like each other-”

“p-pap!” Sans squawked, as Papyrus’s uproarious laughter filled their living room. He didn’t like Gaster, at least, not like that. Despite how handsome or smart Gaster was.

Oh, who the hell is he kidding? He’s got it, and he’s got it bad.

The smaller skeleton dropped his head into his hands in resignation. “i dunno, pap. i can stay home. just you and me, we’ll have a  _ball._ ”

“Don’t use puns to avoid fate!” The couch disappeared from beneath Sans as his brother lifted him into the air by the back of his hoodie. Sans dangled helplessly as Papyrus carried him over to the front door, threw it open, and deposited him gently onto the doorstep. “You march on over there now, brother, and ask that scientist to be your date!” Papyrus hollered. Sans tried to ignore the sniggers of the residents of Snowdin. “Woo him! And do not come back until you have opened your eyes to your true feelings!”

The door slammed in his face. Well, Sans could never say no to his bro. A passerby gave him a thumbs up and a wink and Sans gave an easygoing smile in return to try and fight off his embarrassment.

* * *

Gaster wasn’t expected to bring a date, but if His Majesty’s knowing look was anything to go by, it was  _highly recommended_  he bring someone along.

Since he felt no need to ignore the wishes of his king, that left him to ponder over who would be a suitable accompaniment to the party? They couldn’t want to dance, since Gaster dreaded the very thought. They had to be good company, someone Gaster was familiar with, and who could put him at ease, since he did not function well at social events.

Sans?

Gaster shook his head and waved away the thought. Preposterous. Absolutely, in no conceivable realm, could Gaster take his assistant as a date to a formal event. It was highly unprofessional, no matter how witty, or adorable, or kind, or intelligent-

Oh,  _no._

Gaster covered his face with his hands. Just what was he blushing over? Sans was a good friend and a valuable colleague, and certainly did not harbor romantic feelings for an old coot like Dr. W. D. Gaster…

He tried not to feel too disheartened at the thought.

A knock at his door startled him out of his wallowing and he stood quickly. He crossed his study in a few quick strides, thinking it must be Alphys with the newest readings. He opened the door and looked down to find… someone else.

“uh, hey doc. you got a minute?”

This was a very inopportune moment, but it must be for something important. Gaster cleared his throat and nodded, stepping aside to allow the smaller skeleton entry. Sans gave him a half-hearted wave as he passed. He looked like he had something on his mind.

“so, uh, that party’s comin’ up, huh? happy birthday to the core.”

“Ah, yes. I am… not fond of parties, but His Majesty insisted.”

Sans nodded, his hands shoved into his pockets. Silence fell over the two, heavy and grating irritably against Gaster’s nerves. Sans rocked back and forth on his heels. Gaster tapped his fingers.

“so, i, uh, got no  _body_  to go with.”

Gaster blinked a few times, staring at Sans. He chose to ignore the pun for now. “You are not taking Papyrus?”

“nah. he doesnt wanna… go with me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry-”

“you should,” Sans blurted, cutting off Gaster mid sentence. Again, the taller skeleton found himself blinking rapidly.

“What?” How eloquent. Truly, the brightest of our generation.

“i, uh, think you should be my date. and i don’t mean the fruit.”

Oh.  _Oh_. Gaster couldn’t find any words. Sans continued anyway.

“i-i mean, we could go as friends, too, or just coworkers, but i’d like it to be, y’know, uh, romantic, or something, but if you don’t-”

“Sans.” This skeleton was going to be the death of him one day. Sans paused in his rambling and looked up, his cheekbones tinted blue.  _Cute._  “I would love to be your date.”

Sans’s grin widened, just a fraction, and his eyes lit up like the crystals of Waterfall. Ah, there really was no hope for Gaster, was there? “oh. yeah. cool. that’s great. super chill. thanks, g.”

“No need to thank me.”

“i will see you then.”

“Of course.”

“yup. totally. one-hundred and ten percent. haha.”

Gaster watched Sans stumble out with a smile on his face. Now for the real challenge; what to wear.


	3. Wishful Thinking (NSFW Sanster)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no prompt for this one. also this boosts the rating up to M haha...

You push up into him, against him, your body filled with saccharine heat as your souls twirl and dance together until you can’t tell where you end and where he begins. His mouth opens  ~~empty gaping maw welcoming you to darkness~~  around a soft moan, almost musical in its effortless passion. You tremble with desire  ~~and loss~~  as his hands, slender and beautiful  ~~dripping black and missing pieces~~  cup your face. He pleads for you, faster, more, Sans,  ~~DON’T CRY~~ , please. You waste no time, pushing up his thighs and driving into him with wild abandon, focusing on nothing but the cries of  ~~static language you cannot comprehend~~  ecstasy each movement of your bones pulls from his mouth. It’s just him, and you, as it should be, and he is whole and present to others and not just your isolated memories. You trail your fingers across the flawless  ~~your fingers catch against a deep groove~~  surface of his skull, loving the feel of his body, slim and strong and so perfect, shuddering beneath yours as you fuck him into the mattress like you may never see him again  ~~and you really might not.~~

His hands grasp senselessly at your arms rip into your jacket with sharp talons as his cries grow in volume, gasps and murmurs of sweet things  ~~DARK, DARKER, YET DARKER,~~  that only you can hear. He breathes your name as he comes, his back arching beautifully off the bed in an attempt to bring the two of you even closer. You growl, desperate, and quicken your pace until he’s a whining, overstimulated mess and you feel yourself coming apart, he is coming apart, melting beneath your fingertips like art washed away, but you keep going. Tears and infinite stars blind you as you reach your peak and you can almost forget the aching reality you managed to hide from in those precious few moments.

As much as you’d love to, you can’t hide forever. You open your eyes and the image of your lover is gone. Gaster, if he even is that anymore, grips the shredded remains of your jacket and looks up at you apologetically. You sigh, in no position to hate him for anything, and collapse onto his shapeless, black body. Maybe, if you’re lucky, the dark will swallow you until the pain is numbed.

But you aren’t one for wishful thinking.


	4. Starry Night (Sanster)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wrexwas; "Sanster Writing Prompt: "Starry Night""

The stars are out tonight.

They’re out every night, Sans supposes. It’s not like they disappear when some clouds decide to take up space (heh) in the night sky. Tonight, though, the infinite expanse above Sans’s head is unobstructed by condensed water and air. He turns his grin upwards, inhaling the crisp night air, letting the sight of innumerable stars fill his nonexistent lungs. He feels tiny, insignificant.

As he gazes upwards, he wonders if he should make a wish. It would be genuine, this time, not a piteous facsimile to comfort trapped monsters. But, what could he possibly wish for? As far as Sans can tell, he has everything. Monsterkind is free, Papyrus is happy, and Frisk promised that they would not reset (the thought still fills him with dread, as if he expects the kid to sweep the rug out from beneath him and let him crash and burn). They’re finally approaching true peace and happiness. What is there left to wish for?

He recalls a passing conversation.

_“… hmmm… if I say my wish, you promise you won’t laugh at me?”_

Familiar, but not. A stranger’s voice, but also a friend’s. The memory, or dream, or memory of a dream, is fuzzy around the edges, but Sans can hear the soft, raspy voice of someone he once knew. He racks his skull for a face, or a name, anything. Sans shakes his head as the memory bubbles to the surface, unbidden and almost foreign.

_“Of course I won’t laugh!”_

_“Someday, I’d like to climb this mountain we’re all buried under."_  Something. A hand, long and slender and so warm, slipping into his own.  _“Standing under the sky, looking at the world all around… that’s my wish.”_

He chuckles. Whoever the other occupant of his memory was, they had a good mindset. Sans shared that sentiment, so long ago. He can’t remember why.

_“…hey, you said you wouldn’t laugh at it!”_

_“Sorry, it’s just funny…”_

He looks down at his hand. Empty.

_“…that’s my wish, too.”_

He hears laughter. A low, snorty laugh that sounds so unbearably nerdy, but completely and utterly perfect. Sans’s bones feel cold and his head feels empty as the memory fades, leaving behind a yawning void and an aching soul. He taps his fingers against the ground. He traces something in the dirt. A hand directed upwards, towards the world he so longed to see.

“…Sorry you didn’t get your wish, G,” Sans mutters and he places his hand over the mark he left on the ground. “I won’t let it go to waste. A waste of space, that is. Heheh…”

He turns his head, expecting to meet an amused smile and twinkling eyes, warm laughter and comfort and  _love._

But nobody came.


	5. Trickster (Mettasans)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous; "hey! you still lookin for fic prompts? It's cool if you aren't, it's fun just writing this stuff out. I was thinking about mettasans, and Sans being a little troublemaker. Practical jokes shooting rapid-fire. So Mettaton grounds him (only figuratively) by wrapping Sans up in his extendable noodle robot arms. Sans reaction might go like this: 1) jokes galore 2) 'please put me down' 3) *stares blankly, trying to not think about how much he likes Mettaton* ..... 4) *falls asleep*"

Mettaton liked to think of himself as a patient robot. He could handle swarms of paparazzi without batting an eye, all fanmail was meticulously read and replied to with great affection. Even gifts or letters of the particularly… unfavorable kind were treated with saintly patience.

But even Mettaton, though he loathed to admit it, had a breaking point. There was a line drawn in the sand, and that line was bright red, stank of tomatoes, and plastered to the inside of his thighs. He sat on the chair of his dressing room, staring at the sticky mess with a mixture of shock, horror, disgust, and rising fury. How Sans managed to sneak into his private quarters and three slightly open packets of ketchup on his seat in front of his vanity, he would never know. Though, he was certain of one thing.

He was going to make that stupid skeleton pay.

With icy calm, Mettaton stood. He shuddered as the ketchup stuck to his thighs and his rear. He gazed at his rectangular body, wishing he could climb in and use it as protection against evil prankster skeletons, but Alphys would have a breakdown if she saw ketchup all over the interior of his body, the poor dear.

The robot huffed a sharp sigh and turned, throwing open the door to his dressing room and ignoring the baffled stares of the people around him. They gave him a wide berth, probably sensing his murderous aura and the condiment clinging to his body. Those who connected two and two pitied the elder skeleton brother as Mettaton stormed off to collect his revenge.

* * *

“Brother! There is someone at the door for you!”

Sans perked up from his position on the couch- upside down, with his cranium just barely brushing the floor- and tried to heave himself upwards with great effort. He ended up twisting too far left and planting gracefully on his face.

“mllf fhb berh ‘bti.”

“What?”

He lifted his head from the floor. “I said I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Of course!” Papyrus chirped in return. As his brother resumed his conversation with their mystery guest, Sans struggled half-heartedly to right himself. Eventually, meaning after the second or third try of moving himself back onto the couch, he gave up and lied with his cheek pressed against the floor and his legs hooked up on the couch.

“Nevermind, tell ‘em they can come in.”

“Well, okay! I am off to go have my lesson with Undyne now, brother! Do try not to get into too much trouble.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Pap,” Sans responded, flashing his brother a thumbs up from his spot on the floor. He heard more muffled conversation, then the soft click of the door closing, then the sound of heels against his wood floor-

Uh oh.

The lights in his eyes shrank as a Mettaton-shaped shadow fell over him. Cautiously, he peered upwards, and the robot’s smiling face greeted him.

“In a bit of a pickle, are we darling?”

Sans shrugged, “Nah, this is fine.” A strong scent passed through the room just then, a scent he could recognize from a mile away. His grin widened, just a fraction, as he looked up at Mettaton. The robot tapped his foot expectantly. “Y’know, I’m really  _relishing_ your visit-”

Mettaton’s smile tightened and his eye twitched. “You have a lot of nerve! I should-”

Sans tuned him out, watching Mettaton’s face contort with anger. God, he was pissed. He’d never seen the glamorous robot so uncomposed. It was hilarious.

“What? You didn’t come here to…”

“Sans, I swear, if you finish that sentence with a pun, I will end you.”

Silence. Sans continued grinning up at the flushed robot, who looked about ready to blow a fuse. The scent of ketchup hung in the air. The scent of victory.

“…………………… _ketchup?_ ”

“Oh, that is _it!_ ”

Sans yelped as Mettaton’s arms shot towards him like lightening, coiling around his ribs- he tried not to squirm too much, those were delicate- and lifting him effortlessly into the air. Mettaton brought him to eye level and glared into his sockets. “If you have any sense of self preservation, you’ll apologize.”

“I won’t apologize for art.”

“You little-”

Sans grinned and shifted, pulling his arms out of Mettaton’s coil and resting them behind his head. He didn’t think it was possible, but that made the robot angrier. “Y’know, this is actually pretty nice. I don’t even have to put in the effort to stand.”

“This is not the time to laze around.”

“Correction, pal. It’s always time to laze around.”

Mettaton huffed, stirring a lock of synthetic black hair that fell out of place. Sans watched the movement, swinging his feet in the air. “You truly are insufferable.”

“I try my hardest.”

Boy, Mettaton’s arms sure were warm. Technically, shouldn’t a robot be cold? But, no, he almost felt as warm as something with flesh. It was weird. Even weirder was that Sans didn’t exactly mind, and almost felt comfortable coiled in Mettaton’s stretchy robot arms. He felt secure.

He didn’t realize he had reached up and brushed Mettaton’s lock of hair back into place.

The two of them froze at the same moment. Sans stared up at Mettaton, mortified, and Mettaton stared back, shocked. Panic began to set into Sans’s chest as he screamed at himself  _why did you do that, you idiot-_

“…What-”

“Put me down,” Sans said meekly, looking everywhere but at the confused robot.

“Oh, no way you’re getting out of this one, darling! Now, tell me, what exactly was  _that?_ ”

Well. There was only one way out of this.

He fell asleep.

* * *

Later, Papyrus came home to a peculiar sight. His brother, dead asleep and cradled by Mettaton’s arms. Mettaton glanced up in surprise as he came in.

“Oh, good! You two are finally getting along, yes?”

“…Yes, darling, I suppose so.”


	6. How To Get Sans's Attention (Mettasans)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (hint: it's puns)

“Saaaaanssyyyyy!”

A grunt.

“Sans! I am trying to talk to you. Must you sleep now, darling?”

Snoring. Mettaton wondered why he even asked.

The robot sighed and rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one arm, the other he used the trace small circles into Sans’s back. The skeleton hummed and nuzzled his pillow.

“I know you’re still awake, sweetheart.”

No response.

“I  _will_  put an ice cube down your jacket.”

Sans’s mouth twitched, but other than that, no reaction.

“Sans? Why are skeletons always so calm?”

A shrug.

“Because nothing gets under their skin.”

Silence. Sans started shaking with barely contained laughter under Mettaton’s fingertips. The robot smiled in victory as Sans sat up, chuckling.

“alright, bucko. what d’ya want?”

“It’s cold. Go get another blanket.”

Sans sighed and shook his head despairingly. “you’re lucky that pun was so good.” Sans leaned forward and pressed his teeth to Mettaton’s forehead before rolling gracefully out of bed. Mettaton heard the dull thud of Sans hitting the floor.

“Thank you, darling!”

“hey, no skin off my bones.”


End file.
